Returning
by hyperpsychomaniac
Summary: Addition/continuation of my earlier fanfic 'Lonely Captive'. Christophe returns to Puerto Angel after being captured and tortured by the Sphere.
1. Chapter 1

**A/n:** I have randomly decided to continue my earlier fanfiction, 'Lonely Captive'. So yeah, here it is. Also warning, bit of whats probably counted as medium to high level swearing in one bit of this... just so you know. I usually avoid, but needed it here for tone. Or something fancy like that... enjoy the fic!

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**Returning**

"There's an S22 out there!" Mahad exclaimed, dashing into the tavern, and nearly knocking over someone's drink as he skidded to a halt in front of Cortes.

"What?" the bloc's Captain stood up, suddenly not so interested in just relaxing in the tavern.

"Yeah… it's not doing anything though… just sitting there in the docking line up…"

Cortes mused for a moment. "If it's not attacking… it might not belong to the Sphere…"

"It's an S22!"

Cortes glared at Mahad for a moment. He was overreacting a little. But he was doing so loudly, and that seemed to be upsetting some of the tavern's occupants. The arrival of anything associated with the Sphere normally made anyone on Puerto Angel nervous.

"I know, Mahad. You're right; we need to check it out." He walked past Mahad, heading out the door, and the boy followed behind him.

"How…?"

"If it's in the docking line up, the traffic coordinator has probably communicated with the pilot…" On that note, Cortes began heading towards the communications tower, tucked away in one of the corners near the door to the Saint Nazaire's dock. At certain times of year, the docks could get quite crowded, and many ships came into Puerto Angel. Chaos could easily ensue, with ship's fighting over the same dock, or wanting to leave or enter at the same time, so everything needed to be coordinated.

As they walked up to the communications tower, they could both see the line-up of flight-enable vehicles outside Puerto Angel. The S22 was waiting on the end.

"It's flying a little oddly too…" Mahad pointed out. "Like the pilot can't keep it steady…"

Cortes nodded. He'd observed this himself.

Suddenly, the S22 jerked to the side, as if attempting to dodge around the ship in front of it.

The other ship, a beat up looking bus with thrusters attacked, blared its horn loudly.

The S22 swung back to its position, and then revved its engines. Its forward weaponry powered up for the briefest of moments, but then powered back down.

Cortes growled, and grabbed his radio from his hip. "I don't give a damn if that's a Sphere ship or not…" he held the radio up to his mouth. "Get stationary weapons on that S22, and send him a warning!"

"I've given him plenty already!" a female voice came from the radio, sounding very much on edge. "He keeps wanting to cut… I said wait your bloody turn!"

By this time, they'd reached the tower, and Cortes pushed open the door.

"…there are weapons trained on your ship, shut down your weapons, and your thrusters…" The woman at the controls looked flustered, and was shouting into her radio, obviously connected with the misbehaving pilot. "You're flying an S22; we have to run checks…"

"I know what the fuck I'm flying!" the radio squawked back. "Now let me dock the fucking ship; I need medical attention! I _need_ to dock!"

"Is that…?" said Mahad, thinking he recognised the voice.

Cortes was already over at the traffic coordinator's console, taking the radio off the woman. "It's alright…" he said as she looked up at him wondering what he was doing. He activated the radio. "Christophe?"

The radio was quiet for a brief moment; the only noise heard was static.

"… Aran…?"

"Yeah, it's me…"

"I…" Christophe's voice was now in sharp contrast to the anger he'd shown before. "I need to dock…"

"Are you alright?"

"No!" Christophe shouted back, angry again, but this time his voice was strained like he was almost in tears. "Let me dock the damn ship! Please?!"

"Let him use the dock outside my house…" said Mahad, now standing behind Cortes. "With the Hyperion gone…"

Cortes nodded; it would be really difficult to get the S22 past all the other ships, especially after the aggression it'd already shown.

"Christophe, can you see the dock to your left? It's outside a house, a few hundred meters from the Saint Nazaire…"

"I think so…"

"Christophe, its Mahad… I'm going to run down there and wave you in, okay?" said Mahad over Cortes' shoulder. He then dashed out the tower door, down the stair, and jogged towards the front of his house.

Cortes watched out the tower window. The S22 was now slowly, though unsteadily, spinning its rear towards Mahad. It shuddered slightly, seemed to almost stop, but then kept going again.

Cortes bit back the instinct to activate the radio again and ask if his brother was doing alright. He guessed he may need to concentrate, just from the movements of the ship.

"Can you make sure he gets in alright…" he told the woman, handing her back the radio.

"Captain… I'm sorry… but he was being aggressive and the S22…"

"It's alright, you were just following procedure," said Cortes, still watching the S22. "Talk to him if he's really having trouble…"

Cortes left the tower, and jogged towards the dock, his heart pounding in his chest. _What have you gone and done this time, Christophe?_ Cortes barely admitted to himself that he was scared; Christophe had sounded really distraught over the radio. Cortes hadn't been sure how he would react to seeing his brother again, especially after what Christophe had done with the Callisto. Cortes had been confused. But now that worry seemed secondary. He didn't care how he reacted; he just wanted to make sure his brother was okay.

Remembering what Christophe had said, Cortes quickly grabbed up his radio. "Can I get a medical team down to the dock in front of Mahad and Lena's house… Yes, _now_!"

He ran up beside Mahad just as the S22 came into alignment with the dock. The ship then overshot just a little bit and bumped up against the concrete. It stopped there, poorly parked, and did nothing more.

Cortes walked up to the back of the ship.

"He needs to open the door…" said Mahad, when nothing happened.

Cortes gritted his teeth. The ship was close enough that he could get up to the side of the hull without need of the ramp. He did so, and found the exterior door release. "Move, Mahad…" he growled.

The ramp hissed down, revealing the cargo area of the S22. There were blast marks up the wall, and a deactivated Brig lying on the floor, a blast mark in its chest.

Cortes winced, and climbed onto the ramp and inside. He activated the lift.

Mahad climbed onto the ramp after him, but the Captain had activated the lift so fast Mahad had to wait.

The lift carried Cortes to the top of the S22. The first thing to hit him was the smell. The cockpit smelt of blood, death, and urine. His eyes adjusted to the dim lighting, and rested for the briefest of moments on the body of a man lying on the floor. He stepped over it to the side of the pilot's seat, to the slumped form seated in it.

"Christophe…?" Cortes put a hand on his brother's shoulder, and felt him shudder.

Christophe still gripped the ship's controls in his fists, and was practically sprawled across the console.

Cortes kept his hand on his shoulder, and pushed one of the controls so that the ship was shut down properly and Christophe couldn't accidently move it.

"Aran…" Christophe groaned, trying to push himself back up. He got almost halfway upright before he let out a cry, cringing and gripping back onto the controls.

"It's okay… you don't have to move…" Cortes gently pried his brother's hands from their grip on the controls.

Christophe gripped onto Cortes' sleeve instead. He was shaking even worse now, and his breath was coming in gasps close to sobs.

"It's okay…" Cortes said again. "Just hang on; the medical team's coming…"

Christophe clung to Cortes' sleeve tighter, his fingers scrunching the material and dragging Cortes' arm towards him.

Cortes stopped resisting, and let his brother cling to the front of his jacket. His body felt hot, like he was running a fever, and he was drenched in sweat. Cortes pulled him closer, careful to avoid the sliver or metal he'd suddenly noticed sticking out of his brother's leg.

_Damn it…_

Christophe cried, his face buried in his brother's jacket. He had expended all his energy just getting the ship into dock, and his body was simply too exhausted to allow him to do anything else.

"It's okay…" Cortes said for the third time, completely unable to think of anything to comfort the shuddering man in his arms. He just kept his arms around him, supporting him, and waiting for the medical team to arrive.

----

"Cortes, are you alright?" The Vector found the Captain in Puerto Angel's hospital, sitting on a bench outside an operating theatre, his arms resting against his knees, and staring hard at the floor. Mahad had come to the lighthouse and told him what had happened, and he had only now made it down to the hospital.

Cortes glanced up. "Yeah…" he said. "I'm fine…"

He seemed a little subdued, and confused. But not as upset as the Vector supposed he could be.

"How's Christophe?"

"I don't know…" Cortes admitted, turning to stare back at the floor again. "He was a wreck when I got to him. He had a pretty big piece of metal stuck in his leg they had to get out… but I'm sure he's been in that ship for days… that could be infected and causing all sorts of problems… I don't know what else might be wrong with him…"

The Vector rested a hand on Cortes' shoulder.

"The Sphere did that to him," Cortes growled, "I don't know what exactly, but I know it was them."

"Just relax. He'll be out in a bit."

Cortes drew in a breath. "I know."

The Vector stayed by his side quietly for a few moments, then eventually Cortes spoke again.

"I need to tell him I'm sorry for how I acted last time he was here… he has to be okay…"

The Vector sighed. "I told you, Cortes. You have nothing to apologise for. Right now, I think Christophe just needs you to be there for him. And you're doing that now..."

At that moment, the door to the operating theatre cracked open, and one of the nurses walked out.

Cortes stood up. "How is he?"

"It's okay," the nurse reassured him. "We've taken out the metal. He's just sleeping now."

"But is he going to be okay?" Cortes asked again, this time a little more forcefully.

"For now, he's fine," the nurse said, carefully. "He has a good chance of recovery. But he needs to rest. We're not exactly sure how long that metal was in his leg, but it was long enough. It's infected, but we've given him antibiotics. Provided he rests, and his body fights, then, yes, he is going to be okay."

"And if his body doesn't fight it?" Cortes asked, not to be deterred.

"His body _should_ fight it… there's every chance it will… but… Well, if he can't, we may have to amputate his leg."

Cortes drew in a breath, and looked at the floor.

"That's the worse case though… we're pretty sure he'll fight it."

"Cortes…" said the Vector, putting his hand on the man's shoulder again. "It'll be alright, you don't need to dwell on it."

"How is he otherwise?" Cortes asked.

"The Sphere had him… he's probably been tortured. He has some energy burns, and he's probably been subjected to a lot of Seijin energy. Again, he just needs to rest. The only real worry is his leg."

Cortes nodded. "Alright… can I…?"

"We'll bring him out in a moment," the nurse smiled slightly. "We'll get him into a bed, and you can stay with him if you'd like. But let him rest; he'll be out for a good twelve hours anyway."


	2. Chapter 2

Christophe woke suddenly, the image of Carli's limp body still fresh in his mind. Slowly, he realised he had just dreamt it. _She's gone… _

He cracked open his eyes further, squinting in the light that seemed bright to him, though in fact the nearest window had its curtains drawn, and the lights were off. It was only the early morning light that peeked around the cracks in the curtains that was blinding him.

Christophe grunted, shifting his body and feeling everything ache. He was sore, and his leg hurt worst of all. Surprisingly though, it felt better than it had before. The pain, however, was dull, as his wits felt. _God knows how many drugs they've pumped into me._

There was movement beside him, and Christophe managed to open his eyes fully. His brother had his arms folded on the bed beside him, his head resting against them as he'd slept. Christophe waking up had woken him too.

Cortes opened his eyes, blinked blearily a few times, and then seemed to realise Christophe was awake. "Christophe?" He sat up from the bed, waking himself up completely.

Christophe couldn't help grinning, realising his brother had probably stayed all night for him. "Hey…"

Cortes fought a smile for a few seconds, but then just gave up. "Hey… how're you feeling?"

"Like crap…" Christophe smiled. He decided he was too low in the bed, and tried to push himself up further.

It wasn't so much pain that stopped him, but an overwhelming feeling of weakness. His muscles shook, and his body collapsed back under him as he let out a moan. He suddenly felt cold, and he was shivering.

"Hey…" Cortes took his hand. "Don't push yourself."

Christophe just nodded, gripping his brother's hand until the chill passed.

"Look, Christophe…" Cortes said. "I'm sorry I was such a jerk last time. I just… I felt you had betrayed me when you took off to join the Sphere… I couldn't see how that could help us. I should've trusted you…"

"Aran… it doesn't matter…"

"It does… I was…"

"No it _doesn't_!" Christophe growled. "Don't blame yourself, it's my fault. It's always been my fault!"

"Chris…"

"I didn't think of you, I didn't think of my crew, I didn't think of anyone but myself! I never do; I never have! It's just… hurt people…"

"What are you talking about?" Cortes frowned. "Christophe, you blew up your _ship_ for me and my crew. That is the most unselfish thing you could do… it was a lot better than the way I was acting…"

"That's not… Aran… I really messed up…" Christophe looked away from his brother, trying to catch his breath after his outburst.

Cortes looked down at Christophe, and then moved a hand to grip his brother's shoulder. "Christophe, what happened?"

Christophe still didn't look Cortes in the eye, staring at some point across the room. "It doesn't… matter."

"Aye, it does. Look, you must've come halfway across Skyland to get here; I'm sure you could've found some hospital along the way, but you didn't. I'm right here, right now, but I cannot help you if you don't talk to me."

Cortes' attitude towards him was far different than the last time Christophe had come to Puerto Angel. But Christophe had come, even though he didn't know how Cortes would react; whether he would accept him or push him away. Now he didn't doubt his brother really did care about what had happened to him, but he still found it difficult to tell him. "Before the Sphere captured me…" he started anyway. "I was travelling with this girl, called Carli. We bought a ship together, because we both didn't have much money. It was just a business thing. But… I guess we could've gone our separate ways earlier… we should have, but we didn't." Christophe drew in another breath, his chest heaving. "We tried to take down a water carrier. It was my idea. And the Sphere caught us. They wanted me… but they didn't need her. The Guardian took me on his patroller, and tried to get me to tell him where Puerto Angel was. But… he just killed her."

"Christophe… I'm sorry…"

"She didn't do anything to them! It was my fault… I shouldn't have convinced her to go…"

"It's not your fault," Cortes said, taking his brother's hand again. "You didn't kill her… the Sphere did."

Christophe wanted to argue, but suddenly he didn't have the strength. He slumped back deeper into the bed, just drawing in air. His body was starting to shake again. "Aran… I'm… tired…" His eyes slipped shut.

Cortes was watching his brother sleep again. He let his hand slip from the man's shoulder. Then he just groaned, and hung his head.

----

"_Can't help you if you don't talk to me"? Well, he talked to you, and you still can't do a damn thing!_

_I can't bring people back from the dead._

He'd made sure Christophe was sleeping, and made sure the nurses were looking out for him. Mahad had wandered in, and offered to stay with him whilst he slept, if Cortes wanted to leave for a bit. Cortes guessed the boy may have noticed how flustered he looked; he'd been pacing around the small hospital room, trying to keep as quiet as he could, but unable to stay still.

As much as he wanted to stay with his brother, Cortes had been glad to get out. Right now, he needed his own space.

For once, Cortes didn't feel like taking his problems to the Vector. He didn't find himself on the bridge of the Saint Nazaire either. Instead, he ended up beside the S22, still parked outside Mahad and Lena's house.

He looked up at the ship, and hated it. It was built to destroy, and nothing more. Despite this thought, Cortes found himself activating the door hatch, and entering the Sphere ship.

Inside was now clean. The body of the Guardian had been removed, as had been the Brig, and blood cleaned off panels. The only signs left of what Christophe had been through in here were the blast marks up the walls. The S22 simple awaited the pirates to decide what to do with it. Despite its design intention, the ship itself didn't really care who operated it, or what was done with it.

Cortes sat down in the pilot's chair, and looked over the control panel. Again, the ship appeared designed to kill. The weapon controls were easier to reach than the communications systems.

Cortes stared at the panel for a moment, anger building within him, until he eventually just slammed his fists into the machine's interface.

He knew how much it hurt to loose somebody you really cared about. He'd fought against the Sphere long enough that a part of him coldly knew that was just the way things were. The Sphere killed people, they broke up families, they stole and took everything from you they could. To expect anything different was foolish.

Despite knowing this, every time Cortes lost someone, it still hurt him. It hurt like the first time it had happened, and always would. Even when you promised yourself you wouldn't let them hurt you like that again.

Cortes knew Christophe was feeling this now. He was probably still in pain, and he was still fighting sickness. He didn't need that hurt on top of it all.

And Cortes could do nothing for him.

Cortes exhaled, attempting to calm himself, and stared at the Sphere screen in front of him. It displayed a small sphere symbol, rotating slowly, and flickering as the ship's systems idled.

"Why do you have to do this?" Cortes snarled at the screen. He pounded a fist against it, failed at causing it any damage, and then instead stood up and turned on the sidewall.

He hit it three times before he realised that this wasn't going to help Christophe either. He hit it for a fourth time, this time not as hard, then just let his fist slide down it, his knuckles stinging.

Cortes drew in deep breaths. _Just don't let him hurt anymore…_

----

Christophe sat up in bed, leaning his back against the wall behind him. Mahad was currently across the other side of the room, standing on a chair, boisterously re-enacting his last encounter with the Sphere.

Christophe was doing everything he could not to burst out laughing. He was finding the story far more amusing than impressive.

"And then, like fifty patrollers were coming at me! But they didn't scare me, so I flew at them…" Mahad made a motion with his hand, one that nearly carried his point of balance right off the edge of the chair. In fact, one of the chair legs almost lifted off the floor before Mahad rebalanced and continued, not even seeming to notice he had almost ended up with his face in the floor.

Christophe stifled himself again. He had the feeling a laughing fit would just exhaust him, and probably hurt too much to be worth the effort.

He was feeling better than he had previously though. When he'd awoken, finding Mahad now at his bedside, he'd managed to sit himself up without the feeling of weakness that had overcome him when he'd woken to find Cortes there. His leg still hurt him, but at least he didn't feel so sick. Just a little bit tired.

Despite feeling tired though, it was difficult to feel like going back to sleep with Mahad making a fool of himself in front of him.

"And then they…!"

"You're awake…" Cortes stood in the doorway, leaning against the doorframe. He had possibly been there for a few moments.

Mahad started at Cortes' voice, and this time overbalanced, waved his arms in the air in an attempt to rebalance, than partway through that realised that it wasn't going to work, and instead half jumped – half fell – off the chair he'd been standing on.

Christophe snorted, then finally burst out laughing. Only for a moment though, because then he was out of breath.

"Are you alright?" Cortes asked. He looked a little worried, and walked over to his brother's bedside.

"Yeah…" Christophe drew in a breath, smiling. He wasn't sure if Mahad had actually been serious about his story, or had just been trying to entertain him. Either way, it had worked.

Cortes put a hand on Christophe's shoulder, giving him a gentle squeeze. He hadn't expected to see his brother so lively, so soon. _Guess he _is_ fighting. And surprisingly, I think Mahad is helping._

"Sorry…" Mahad muttered, pulling himself up off the floor and leaning on the bottom of the bed. "I got a bit carried away…"

"It's… okay…" Christophe smiled, still trying to get his breath back.

"It's alright, Mahad," said Cortes, his hand still on his brother's shoulder. "Thanks…"

Mahad shrugged. "No problem. I'll… leave you guys alone." He turned and left, then stopped in the doorway. "Oh… I blew up all the patrollers… in case you were wondering…"

"Go, Mahad!" Cortes growled, waving him out the door with his free hand. When Mahad had disappeared, he turned back to his brother. "You sure you're okay?" he asked again.

"Yeah… You don't need to leave someone to baby sit me, you know," Christophe smiled. He'd nearly gotten his breath back now, although he still looked tired. "You don't need to stay here all the time either…"

"I know. I just… wanted to make sure you were okay." Cortes pulled up a chair next to his brother's bed, and sat down. "I know you've been through a lot…"

Christophe shrugged. "I'll survive. I always do."

"I'm here if you need me though… I know I can't do anything. But I'm still here."

Christophe looked at some unidentifiable point on his bed sheet. "Thanks, Aran."

"I know we haven't been the best of brothers…" Cortes continued. "I know I haven't. But I'm going to try and change that…"

Christophe looked up at him, and forced a smile. "Hey, you're already doing a pretty good job. Thanks, really."

Cortes smiled back, looking a little embarrassed. Christophe seemed to be bouncing back. He'd been really worried for a little while. And he still knew his brother wasn't okay yet. Some things never really stopped hurting. But he was pretty sure he was going to be okay.

_Guess I can't help it. I really do care about him, whatever he's done wrong in the past.

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**A/n:**_ Yeah, probably not the best ending, but yes, that is the ending. If I continue this all it will end up as is spiraling angst. I have other things I need to write. Hope you enjoyed anyway. :)


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